


The Dark Lord Forgetting

by Penfort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Comedy, Death Eaters, Gen, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Memory Loss, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9871316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penfort/pseuds/Penfort
Summary: Lord Voldemort, or so everyone has been calling him, has lost his memories. He woke up in the forest, wearing a grimy and torn robe. He must now figure out what happened and make his way in this strange world he's living in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure how good this is, but after seeing on tumblr someone wondering what would happen if Harry had obliviated Voldemort, I thought it'd be fun to write it as a light kinda comedy piece.   
> I had fun writing this and it's far from complete (but I'm a messy writer and can get easily overwhelmed by other interests), so any pointers or so are welcome.
> 
> P.S:Sorry for the bad title, I'm not very good at these. Also if someone is interested in co-writing this, I'll be glad for the help.

Lord Voldemort, or so everyone called him; he really had no idea. He was pretty relieved to have shaken off those strange, black-clad people following him everywhere. Relieved, but nervous still. He had the impression he's being followed.

He strolled down the road from the woods leading into the nearby village. He would've gladly spent more time along in the forest, but he had run out of supplies. He kept looking behind his back every now and then, though even if someone had been following him, they shouldn't recognise him. He tried his best to grow some hair on his dry scalp. He got rid of that grimy black cloak he had and wore emerald green robes instead. He had an unexplained pull towards the colour. He did the quickest of changes to his eyes, a speck of black was now visible in the red, snake-like slits that always disturbed him when he looked in the mirror. He even tried to regrow his nose. It was completely baffling why he didn't have a nose, and none of those black cloaked guys seemed to have any idea about it.

 

He walked down the sloppy street humming a silly song that sounded familiar, it gave him a homely feeling. The last couple of months had been completely strange and perplexing. He had woken up in a dark gloomy forest one morning with not a single memory in his head. He couldn't even remember his own name. He got up and stumbled out of the forest, creatures hissing and scurrying away from him. When he got out of the forest, a breathtaking sight faced him; a huge castle loomed on the horizon, with wide grounds and a lake spread out beneath it. Even though he had the strong urge to, he didn't head there. A castle like this by guards, and with his current situation, it’d be foolish to ask for entry.  
  
He skirted the outer area of the castle until he came upon a big hut on the castle grounds. A dog was sitting outside, no leash on its collar. He knocked on the door, but no answer came from inside. The dog barked once in response. He knocked a second time, the dog barked twice. As he moved to knock a third time, the dog stood up on its legs and started barking loudly. He stared at it, trying to shush it when a gruff voice came from the forest edge: “Wha’ is it, Fang?”  
He bolted away.  
  
He ran as fast as he could in the accursed cloak he was wearing. Finally, he found himself facing two stone columns, with winged boars atop each, flanking a great iron gate. This must be the exit and entrance to and from the school grounds, he thought. And sure it was; stepping outside the gate he could see a bustling village below. He hesitated from going further; he knew nothing of himself, and this number of people would certainly notice something amiss if he started asking strange questions. He also had the odd feeling that his look wouldn’t it particularly endear him to anyone. Yet he needed to know some things about this place. About his identity. And more pressingly, he needed to eat. As he was thinking about his approach to these problems, a voice from behind grabbed his attention.  
“My lord?”

He looked around. A man wearing dark grey robes stared at him. He didn’t recognise the man’s wide-eyed stare.  
  
“My lord!” he said again. “Is it truly you?”  
  
He only blinked at the man. Him? A lord? Was the castle up the hill his?  
  
“My lord, I beg your pardon.” The man must have noticed his silence and took it to mean something else. He bowed deeply. “I was too filled with joy to show you the proper respect. You may punish me later as you please.” He bowed deeply again.  
  
Panic welled inside him. Punish? Was he this kind of lord? And why was the man unfazed by the promise-offering it. Was he part of some perverse cult? He felt disgusted at the thought. That man must be confounded or even worse.  
  
“I shall send an owl-“  
  
A what??

“-Informing everyone that Lord Voldemort is back!”  
  
Volde-what? Was this a code-name? Did perhaps the cult have deeper intentions? Possibly more dangerous ones. Because there’s could be no chance anyone would be accepting to being called Voldemort. Can you imagine the taunts? Voldetort, Voldy…it sounded French. He’d rather not be named at all.  
  
“My lord…is there anything troubling you? I have never doubted your return, my lord! None of us has -except Lucius maybe- but my lord! I still have the mark!”  
  
He raised his arm to pull off his left-hand sleeve “Maybe you’d like to do the summons, my lord.”  
But before he could go any further, he put his hand on his right arm and said:  
“You must be mistaken. I am no lord.” He looked at the falling face of the man, the scepticism in it, and added, “And I would advise you not to summon anyone, lest it be you’re sure of it.” And with that, he turned around again and headed towards the village, leaving the man stunned near the trees.  
  
His voice had surprised him. It was high pitched, like a hiss. Was his throat all right? And who was this man? He felt creeped out by the encounter and now stood a good distance from the village. He looked down at his dirty, torn black robe. He then touched his head, he had no hair. He passed a hand over his face, and recoiled as he realised the hole in the middle of his face-he had no nose! An oddity, and one he couldn’t show in public without garnering attention. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for any other strange encounters, and he’d figure out who he is (or was) once he ate and got some rest. But first, he needed to hide his face. He looked behind him, and mercifully, the man had long disappeared. He scanned the village and for his relief, he found a run-down, abandoned shack on the skirts of the village. It was fenced, but there was a low area he could easily pass from. The place had the look that it hadn’t been occupied for years, and no one was getting anywhere near it.  
  
“Lord Voldemort” walked around the abandoned train station, edging the trees and crossed the railroad, reaching the shack from behind. It was easy to enter from there, stepping over the ruined fence. He found a backdoor leading inside and quickly went it, seemingly unnoticed by passerby on the other side of the shack.  
Inside, the place was in ruins. Floorboards and wallpaper ripped away, furniture and bedding torn. He looked around for anything he could wrap around his face to hide his missing nose. Eventually, he found a worn out canary yellow and black scarf discarded on the ground near the door. He wrapped it carefully around his face, hiding his nose and mouth. In the next room, he found a woolly grey hat and a pair of sky-blue gloves near the bed. The hat looked out of place in the shack, just as much as the gloves did. Which, upon closer looking, seemed to be womanly. He pocketed them, however. He can hide his hands in his pockets until the need arises, and then he can decide whether to wear them or not. His long, bony hands and fingers unsettled him. As if they belonged to a cruel past self he didn’t really want to meet.

He was heading out the door when the thought struck him; he can’t march into the town and take whatever he wanted without payment. He delved into his pocket and only found a silver coin there. So he set up scrounging around the shack for dropped coins, looking into the dust-covered books and moth-eaten clothes.  
In the end, he sat on the edge of the creaking and ancient bed, it’s hangings torn from what looked like claw marks. He counted his money, he had 5 silver coins and 6 bronze ones. He had no idea how currency worked here, but he supposed these would do to buy him food. And afterwards? He didn’t know. If the station was running he could ask for a map and a take a train wherever seemed suitable.  
But for now, he wanted to eat and drink and rest. Thinking would come afterwards.  
  
His worst features hidden, he left the shack and walked into the village. He realised that his scarf and hat wouldn’t get much attention. Even his dirty, torn robes; several people looked worse for wear as they shifted around the village, some of them heading to a side road on curving right from the village.  
  
He passed by a pub, the sign reading “The Three Broomsticks”. A place like this was a good source of gossip, he could sit near a crowded table and eavesdrop on the conversation, picking up hints and information about the whole place around him. And a drink wouldn’t hurt either, but not on an empty stomach. He walked a further into the village, scanning the shops around him. He could see the post office, a candy shop across the street from it. And there, between the candy shop and “Zonko’s” lay a grocery store. The shop looked old but fully stocked. He went in. His eyes took in all the different foods and ingredients. Crates of fruits and vegetables. Bottles of syrups and condiments. Bread, eggs, bacon, dried fruit… every inch of space was crammed with food. He inspected the bags of food. Each had a price tag on it: bread was 22 knuts, he took a bag. Then headed to the back of the shop, where a small table was laid out with various cardboard boxes and tins and bags. A small written sign pinned on it read “Muggle foods from all over the world!” Muggle. The word rang a distant bell in his head, but he couldn’t find it. He looked over the products, “processed cheese”, “tuna”, “bon-bon”-the latter looked nothing more than ordinary candy. He picked up a box of cheese. With apparently little demand, its expiry date was near and it only costs a sickle now. He headed to the counter and gave the woman two silver coins. She looked him over quickly, returned him some change and turned her attention to the next customer.  Voldemort walked out of the store, relieved that the exchange went without any trouble.  
  
With food in his arms and enough money to spare, he headed out of the village again and sat between the trees at the side of the road. Hidden from sight and eating his cheese and bread.


End file.
